Happy Birthday Albus
by ExoticLily
Summary: As Albus Severus turns seventeen, the whole gang is here to congratulate him. Or so it seems. An atmospheric étude on coming of age. Warning: M for mild drugs.


\- The essential thing in coming of age, - Scorpie says, lighting the joint, - the most essential thing here, - he continues slowly and lazily, blowing smoke and passing the joint to Rosie, - is, no matter how grown-up you are, you've still got to hide it from the old folks.

He reaches down and gives Hugo a wet kiss. Victoire breaks into a high-pitched laugh of hers at the sight of that. She's incredibly high. Everyone is.

\- That's cause they pay your bills, dumbo, - Albus jokes, passing the joint further without smoking. He's turning seventeen today and every single person in the room feels uncomfortable. They were supposed to be praising him and celebrating his birthday, but instead, they all got dragged into a kind of a collective hallucinated depression, with each and one of them doing immature shit to prove to oneself he's not too old. They ended up wasted as hell.

Teddy is already asleep. He's come to the party in his working suit - a grey and dull one, a serious, a grown-up one. Victoire used to like it before. Teddy is so drunk he's unaware he lies naked in the grass, with his hands covered in mud, and a cigarette still lit between his teeth. Scorpie put a big show out of undressing Teddy (with dirty queer jokes, of course, something about how he dreamed of getting Teddy out of his clothes for years… and winking at Victoire at the same time. This is the thing about Scorpie, he uses his gayness to intrigue women and he sleeps with women to confuse men). Then, Scorpie produced his wand and set the suit on fire. It was considered ritual, a bonfire to the never-draining fountain of youth. They danced around it until they dropped.

It all started with Rosie giving a little speech about little Albus. She was standing above him, tall and slim, a wet dream of Ravenclaw's tower, that moaned her name on hot spring nights, and she was talking about their childhood. She was remembering how they would steal uncle Harry's brooms and go fly into the night sky, shouting and singing up in the air, or climb to the cellar of Malfoy Manor and tease elfs, and grant them clothes, and watch them roll down the stairs to start beating Draco with their tiny fists in the most comical rage… By the time she had finished, Scorpie and Hugo were already exchanging worried glances. And then it got worse, Rosie mentioned something about taking the Invisibility Clock to stalk James' first girlfriend, and they got into a fight with James, on the topic of how long ago that was. Scorpie tried, he really tried to stop them, to prevent them from saying this out loud, to prevent them from counting. But they did, they did, and they found out that was ten years ago.

Albus was long forgotten. Instead, they bathed in their own reminiscences of youth, swam and drowned. Not that they suddenly became old. They were still young, probably, even too infantile, too childish, and the thought of losing this state of mind, this spirit scared their guts. James lost his virginity ten years ago. Scorpie scanned the room knowingly, watching them, taking them in. He thought he couldn't tell the difference, now they all weren't innocent, so to say, now they all - even little Albus - had tried both muggle and wizard drugs, woken up hangover for the first time and got used to waking up with one, dared each other in sex and fight. It was pretty much the same; they were the same, they looked the same and they moved the same. They were as silly as when they were younger, he thought with a hidden smirk.

Rosie never understood it, the perspective of getting old. She remembered watching her mother - all sophisticated and refined, strict and sharp, - and wondering if she was always like this. Rosie's concept was that people don't get smarter or stronger with age, they are just put in certain environment where, under the circumstances, they start to behave like grown-ups, never really becoming one. Children do not grow into old people; it's just that some people are born children and some people are born grown-up. You surely saw them - infants talking scary serious crap, and old men with a blank, happy-about-nothing stare… Hermione Granger was born grown-up. Ron Weasley was born a child. Rosie looked around the room carefully; she never really enjoyed hanging out with these guys. The Marauders themselves and all of their descendants were born eternal teenagers - brave, and stupid, and sparkling. Rosie was born old, just like her mother, and strangely enough, she only felt Albus was her equal, little Albus that carried the same weight his father had had, the weight of being squashed and pushed in some shape you don't fit in naturally. Harry Potter was born a child in the era when people needed old wise men. Rosie and Albus were born grown-ups in the era when people needed lighthearted kids.

Kids were having fun. James, Hugo, Scorpius, all with a mashed-up narcotic mess instead of brain cells, broke free and were running around the backyard, sending random hexes in the air, threatening to burn the house down and feeling Victoire up, pinching her snow-white thighs as she lied on the floor and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Albus was getting tired. He liked books and quiet evenings, he was a good boy, after all, his father's favorite. Ginny never really loved him. To her he seemed like a wrong child, too simple or something, she couldn't figure. It's probably because he never did risk, never got in danger, and she just didn't have a chance to feel like loosing him and develop this kind of attachment. So he was his father's son. In a way, he was somehow surprised it was only his seventeen's birthday; he felt much older. Time never mattered to him, he felt timeless, caught up in a vortex, in a flow. People said he read too much, lost sense of reality.

James, Hugo and Victoire never really thought about anything. James was talented, gifted in any way possible. Inspired. He just did stuff and it always worked out. Hugo was not too smart. Funny that he got into Ravenclaw, sure, but there's this thing, when people are truly educated and at the same time not really smart. And Victoire was just a painfully beautiful woman.

They got tired and fell - collapsed on the sofa, where Rosie and Albus were sitting, and squeezed in, altogether. Scoprie rolled a joint and they started talking.

\- It's not about the bills, you idiot. Not like my father got a penny of his own, a penny he didn't inherit. It's just that we're different. Time has passed, the war is over. We can't go ahead and make them our confidants. We should keep secrets. Secrets is how one generation separates itself from the previous one. There should be a gap or otherwise it's all senseless, there's no evolution.

For a brief moment, James thinks of his parents. What are they up to? Probably, a cup of tea and a boring conversation before going to bed. Do they still have sex? He decides to ask this question aloud.

\- Anybody up to party with muggles? - he asks suddenly, - I know a club downtown.

Victoire's instantly on her feet. Hugo's up with a suggestion - his eyes are glowing - how about they steal uncle Harry's brooms, like they did years ago? Albus and Rosie don't want to go. It lingers for a second, this reluctance. They have been feeling old all night, irritated and tired of these stupid kids. Think of it, these dirty clubs, and music that's always too loud, and people who are always too silly and too drunk. They don't feel well, too. Albus remembers the smoke that they usually blow in the air, that eats eyes and makes him nauseous, and winces. Rosie's sure of one thing, as it is. She should go home and write an assignment. Going to clubs is for kids. Albus and Rosie feel grown-up. They exchange looks.

\- Sure, - Rosie says brightly and Albus just nods. And then gives a little smile.

They all turn to Scorpie only to find him sound asleep. On their way to the broom closet Albus passes him and stealthily kicks his butt. Rosie notices and giggles.

After they leave, the backyard is silent for several minutes. Then, the door opens to let Harry and Ginny, and others, out. They look a bit dusty, it seems, and their clothes, if you look close, may not be arranged neatly. Ron walks out last; he's lighting up a joint and saying -

\- It's pretty simple, guys. Most of all you've got to hide it from the kids.


End file.
